Picking Roses Read online

  “It’ll rain in a bit. That will help.” Chrissy chuckled. “Lord, you remember that time in Decatur in May?”

  “Lake Wise County? I thought they were all gonna drown.” She had to chuckle, had to. That bull riding had been sunk so hard in rain the bullfighters had been knee deep and wading. “Amy’s man was a saddle bronc rider too.”

  Amy nodded. “He died at an event in Greeley. He wasn’t even riding. He got kicked in the head.”

  “Everyone’s got their time, I guess.” Chrissy’s mouth tightened and Rosie couldn’t blame her one bit. No one wanted to be the one who lost someone, who had to tell themselves all the platitudes to get through the day.

  “Yeah. Is this ever going to be over? I mean, will anyone ever want to be my friend again?”

  God, Rose had asked herself that a thousand times, and the sad answer was, probably not here. She’d moved to Texas, found jobs, an apartment. There she’d met a ton of people who didn’t know rodeo, didn’t think she was Typhoid Mary.

  She glanced at Chrissy, who rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Sure, honey. You’ll get to know new folks. I found a new church, and that helped. Rosie got herself a job.”

  “It will work out, sweetie. How far along are you?”

  “Six months.”

  “That’s a bitch,” Chrissy said. “Everything seems huge.”

  “Especially my belly.” Amy grinned suddenly, then they were all giggling together, just roaring with the stupid laughter borne from pain that cut all the way down to the bone.

  Sometimes it felt good to cut loose.

  Even if it did make a hundred cowboys stare at them.

  Of course, when Chrissy stuck her tongue out at the lookie-loos, it just got worse. Or better. Or something.

  Yeah. Yeah, okay. They could do this. They totally could.

  Chapter Three

  Les stretched his arms up, trying to work the kinks out of his upper back. That heavy little mare had nigh ripped his shoulders right out of his sockets. The shuttle bus was idling, the lights mostly off, every seat full. It was quiet, though. A man could have a nap.

  The place was rocking back there, and more people were bound to come in before the old man at the wheel actually closed the doors and got them moving.

  He caught a whiff of some serious BO, which led to pit sniffing, as clandestine as he could make it. Oh, not him. Good.

  Sure enough, about the time the doors closed, a soft voice sounded and a tiny, fine-looking slip of a gal hopped on and paid her dollar. She headed for the back, moving careful, hunting for a place to light. When it was clear that there wasn’t one, she reached up, fingertips barely catching the strap as she swayed on tiptoe.

  Les stared at all of the young guns up front who weren’t about to budge and let a lady sit down. Shit. His momma had raised a cowboy, even if theirs hadn’t. Unfolding his legs, Les stood and cleared his throat.

  “Ma’am? Why don’t you sit down?”

  “Oh, that’s—” The bus jerked and she tumbled forward, right against him. Les caught her and eased her down into his vacant seat. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Not a problem.” He smiled down at her, just caught by her liquid dark eyes and the sad expression in them.

  “They make buses for taller people.” She winked, smiled at him.

  “The handle parts at least, yeah.” Wow. She was… Pretty didn’t begin to cover it. “You’re from down south, huh?” Her voice gave her away.

  “Yes, sir. Longview, Texas, right near the Louisiana border.”

  “Ah.” Well, then, she had to be disappointed in these rude-assed boys. Hopefully he’d made a better impression.

  She pinked, glanced down, fingers playing with the bottom of the longest black-black braid he’d ever seen. “Are you from ’round here?”

  “I’m from over in Colorado, but closer than you, I guess.” Lord, she was something. He was glad it wasn’t his body that was smelly. He wanted to make a good impression on her.

  She nodded, blinked up at him again. Her throat was pale, slender, and he wanted to touch it. “Up in the mountains?”

  “Yeah. Over by Steamboat Springs. Pretty up there.” He paused, trying to remember how to make small talk with a woman. “Lots of moose.”

  “Moose? Like as in…” She put her hands up at her head, spread her fingers like antlers.

  “Yeah. Like uh, Rocky and Bullwinkle… Only no squirrel.” Shut. Up. Les. God, he was a dork.

  She seemed surprised as she laughed, and the sound settled in the pit of his belly. “We have ’gators. No moose.”

  “I bet you got them weird swimming rats too.” Hell, they had marmots in Colorado.

  “Nutria? A couple three.”

  They stopped at the first hotel and the lady sitting beside the pretty lady moved and she scooted over. “Here. You sit.”

  “Thank you.” She smelled nice. Her hair looked real soft. Les searched for a wedding ring. There was a wedding band—pretty and simple and gold, but it was on her right hand. Oh, man. He’d bet she was one of the gals in for the memorial, he’d bet. He’d seen a bunch of them, some riding the arena, some standing by the announcer.

  Poor baby. He was enough of an ass to hope it had been a while, though. That she’d be ready to look at someone else. Maybe him.

  “Do you know the town at all?” She had the biggest eyes.

  “Come here every summer.” Sometimes in between, too, depending on what there was going on.

  “Do you know if there’s somewhere to eat within walking distance of the La Quinta?”

  “Walking?” Crap. The breakfast place next door wasn’t an all-nighter. Those were all at least a mile or two away. Wait. This was good. “Nope. I know where you can get food this time of night, but it’s not safe to walk. I could give you a ride.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. I don’t want to put you out. I bet I can make a meal from the vending machine.” She jumped as her phone buzzed, and she answered it. “Hey, Mr. Beau. No, sir. AJ told me you were doing that reporter deal, so I caught the shuttle. You tell Sammy I said hi, huh? Yeah. Sleep well.”

  Beau. Shit. Beau Lafitte? Her husband must have been someone. Had to be Beau Lafitte if she was talking about AJ and Sam. They were all big time bull riders, way out of his tiny circuit league.

  “Sorry. I was supposed to wait for a ride, but I didn’t want to.”

  “Oh. Well, if you’re meeting folks, then I won’t bother you.” Les screwed up his courage. “But if you’d like, I sure would be pleased to take you to get some food. I’m single, mostly sober, and I’m not one to abuse a woman’s trust.”

  That laugh sounded again, low and musical. “I’m not meeting anyone. Beau was my husband’s friend, and those men…they worry. Are…are you sure that you don’t mind? Breakfast was a long time ago.”

  “I don’t mind a bit.” He hadn’t had nothin’ since before the rodeo, which had started at two. “I could eat a horse.” Les chuckled. “Maybe the one that tried so hard to throw me.”

  Her smile faded, the tiniest bit. “Did you get hurt?”

  “No, ma’am. She tried, but I had her number.” He changed the subject. “I’m Les. Lester Jacoby.” Les held out his hand.

  “Please to meet you, Les.” Her hand was cool, soft, smooth. “I’m Rose Cutrer.”

  Ah. Tim Cutrer’s photo had been all over the arena, along with Mick Martin’s and Dougie Nail, the bullfighter.

  They hadn’t ridden the same circuits most of the time, and Les rode broncs not bulls, but Les remembered Tim as a guy with a great sense of humor and a good sense of balance. “I’m sorry. About your husband, I mean. I only knew him a bit, but he seemed like a good man.”

  “Thank you. He loved his job.”

  “Yeah.” Nice. Smooth. Make her think of the dead guy. Not classy. Les watched the lights go by for a moment, trying to think of what to say next.

  She looked out the window too. “I keep trying to imagine it here in the wintertime.”

  “
It’s right pretty. Not as pretty as where I am.” Steamboat was a winter wonderland, all slopes and valleys, covered in evergreen and white.

  “That’s neat. I grew up in New Orleans. It’s not really snow country.” She pronounced it ‘N’awlins’.

  “I went to New Orleans once.” It had about killed him, the humidity and the smell of the river. Pretty, though.

  “It’s neat. Hot, though, and sticky.” The La Quinta’s lights came up and the shuttle swung into the parking lot. “There’s my hotel… Are you here too?”

  “I am. My truck’s just right over there.” Thank God. “Did you need to freshen up any?”

  “No. No, I’m good.” She glanced up at him. “Unless the mascara didn’t make it through the day.”

  “You look real good.” Without any real thought, he slid a hand around her waist, leading her to the truck. “Real fine.”

  “Good deal. You’re sure I’m not putting you out, now, right?” Rosie hopped up in the truck, easy as you please.

  “Not a bit. I’m peckish.” Thank all hell he’d cleaned his truck. His sister Hester would call it boy-funk, all the stuff that built up in a man’s truck.

  Rose strapped herself in. “Pretty truck.”

  “Thanks. She’s faithful.” He grinned, patted the dash. “So, chain or local?”

  “Whatever’s the best. I’m starving.”

  “Okay.” The place with the lady’s name would have a much better late night menu than the chain, so he headed off toward the mall. Besides, it was bound to be quieter, too, not being right off downtown.

  “So, do you do all the roughstock events or just the broncs?”

  “I ride bulls sometimes. Not as good at it as I am the horses, but there’s more money in it.” Les glanced over. “Never made it to the big show, though.”

  “Timmy always said that was more who you knew than how you rode, in the bottom ranks.”

  “I reckon that’s true.” Les shrugged, turning off on the road that cut across town. “I only ride in the summer, really. Otherwise I’m at the ranch.”

  “Oh, you’re a working cowboy—that’s neat. We used to have a little place, but… Well, taxes and everything. I had to let it and the critters go.” She pushed her braid back behind her, sat up straight. “I have a cute little apartment now, though, so it’s all good.”

  That had to hurt. Les had never had his own place but most of his kind dreamed of it. “Well, I work for a big spread. Might have someplace of my own someday, though.” The neon sign lit the way, and Les turned into the restaurant lot. There were plenty of pickups, but none that he recognized, so maybe they was safe.

  He wanted her to himself.

  “Oh, you’re a big outfit man then? That’s cool. All the old-school boys want to be you.”

  His cheeks heated a little, and he was just tickled as he could be. “Thanks. It’s not glamorous, but I love it.”

  She slipped off her seat belt as he killed the engine. “That’s what’s important, isn’t it?”

  “It is. What all do you do?” She had to work, he guessed. Les hopped out and went to open the door for Miss Rose. She had nice legs. Well, they looked sweet and lean in her skinny jeans, anyway.

  “I work part-time for the water department doing the payroll and I work a couple hours a week at the library, doing story hour and stuff.”

  He knew that story, he reckoned. That was an ‘I’ve been a Mrs., now I’m not’ tale.

  Bless her heart. She must be broke half the time. He didn’t say it, though. “I always liked the bookmobile thing when I was a kid. I didn’t get into town to the library much, though.”

  “Lots of folks don’t, but I get to meet all the little ones, which is fun. I used to think I wanted to do that—be a librarian, but that’s lots of schooling and I’ve done all of that I want to.”

  “I hear you.” The place was fairly crowded, but Les got the little gal to give them a table toward the back.

  In the light, Rose was even prettier, just as pale as milk, and she was rocking the redneck tuxedo, with her sparkly tank top and denim jacket. A tiny silver heart pendant nestled in the hollow of her throat. She had soft-looking lips, the lower one full and almost pouty, and her dark eyes were huge against her light skin. Lord, he was about to wax poetic. Too bad he couldn’t rhyme anything but maybe horse and of course.

  She ordered a glass of tea, then read the menu. “Man, I’m so hungry I could have one of everything.”

  “Well, you have whatever you want, Miss Rose.” He was gonna have that cheese and egg thing, with toast, because they didn’t serve biscuits this late.

  “I think I’ll have a waffle. They sound yummy.”

  Oh. Waffles. Damn, now he had to decide… He could have one on the side. With bacon. “Are you a syrup or honey gal?”

  “I like syrup. You?” She had a beauty mark, tiny and dark, right under the corner of her lips.

  “Syrup, definitely. Though I like strawberry jam sometimes.”

  “I love them with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, for dessert.”

  “Oh, that sounds good.” Thank God she wasn’t one of them girls who didn’t eat, tiny as she was.

  She smiled and her eyes twinkled. “It’s decadent.”

  “Yum.” Decadent, huh? That was more like…oh, chocolate frosting right out of the can. Fruit didn’t qualify as bad for you, did it?

  She nodded and curled her legs up underneath her.

  Les stared, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. She was so pretty anyway, but with her legs all back and stuff it pushed her perky little tits out.

  “You okay?” She reached out, touched his knuckle. “Are you tired?”

  “Huh? Oh. Oh, I’m fine.” Les smiled and told the truth. “You’re awful pretty, is all.”

  “Oh, now. I’ve been crying and stressed all day.”

  “Sure you have. Those memorial things is a bitch.” He could remember when Kyle Frommer had died. The man had been a friend, and a damned good bull dogger, and Les had gotten all teary.

  “They are. Ace called and asked me to come. He’s hard to say no to.”

  “Ace.” Oh, good Lord. She knew Ace Porter on a first name basis. He was the president of the whole bull riding association. “Guess he’s hard to say no to. Can’t say I’m unhappy that he got you here.”

  Oh, look at that pretty blush. God, he could just eat her up.

  She opened her mouth, but the waitress came up to take their order, so he didn’t get to hear it.

  Rose got her waffle, and he got pancakes and eggs and bacon and potatoes. He was damned hungry. Les had to admit, he was a little hungry for her, but food would do.

  He found out that Rose had been an only child, that her folks had died in Katrina, that she’d dated her husband for a long time before they got married. She didn’t have any kids, she loved dogs, and she was named Rose after her granny.

  They talked enough that he even told her about his life, which was a feat for him. He wasn’t usually much of a talker. But he told her about his twin sister, who hated her name and went by Anne, which was her middle name. He called her Hes, maybe Hester Anne, just to rile her up. He told her about his mom and step-dad, who were somewhere in Mexico right now in their little aluminum trailer, seeing the ocean. He told her about his horses and his dog Iggy, who was huge and drooly and not at all like her petite baby named Presley.

  They talked through food and tea, then coffee. Three cups worth.

  Hell, they talked so much that he knew about her childhood bout of mumps and his bout of whooping cough. They’d had chicken pox at the same age, and he was two years older than she was. By like, three days.

  “So, be honest, did you hate having your birthday during Christmas break during school?” Rose asked.

  “Not too much. I mean, it sucked more that there was two of us and it was so close to Christmas that Mom and Dad couldn’t afford two sets of presents.” The bus had picked him and Hes up at like, six a.m. and dropped them o
ff at almost seven at night. He hadn’t missed school parties.

  “Oh, man. I guess so.” She poured a creamer in her warmed-up coffee. “I always wanted a sister or a brother. So, are you riding tomorrow?”

  “Not tomorrow, no. I ride again on Friday.” He cleared his throat, trying not to jiggle his leg like he did when nerves were about to get on him. “You, uh, you got plans?”

  “Tomorrow? I’m going to wander downtown and explore a little. Ace got me tickets to the big concert Friday, standing room only, then I have Saturday to play and I’m home Sunday.”

  “Standing room?” Les frowned. “Friday is George Strait, ain’t it? You won’t see a thing.”

  “You don’t think? Damn.” She pouted a little, lips pooching out.

  “Nope. It’ll be crazy. I bet I could make a trade for some seats that have a good view.” He made the offer sound casual, but man, he wanted her to go.

  “Yeah? If I’m not going to see, I might as well be comfortable.”

  “Oh, you can see real well from some of the seats. Down there on the track, you’d get trampled.” Les dared to reach out and touch her hand. “Let me see what I can do.”

  “You don’t mind?” Shit, as tiny as she was… Hell, he’d be scared she’d get hurt—there were supposed to be ten thousand drunk people down there on the track.

  “I don’t mind one bit, honey. How many tickets did you need me to trade?” Please say more than one.

  “I have two. I didn’t have anyone to share with, but Ace wanted me to have an extra, in case.”

  “Oh. Well, I got me a nosebleed ticket because I wasn’t sure I’d go. If I had someone to go with…” Was that rude? Inviting himself along?

  “Do you think we could trade three tickets for two?”

  “I bet I could.” He’d finagle it somehow, if it killed him. “I’d be happy to pick you up. Unless you’re coming on to the rodeo that day.”

  “No, I don’t have tickets. I mean, I can wander the fair.” She smiled at him like he was Christmas morning.

  “I can come on about an hour before the concert and pick you up.” He wanted to push to let him take her around the next day, too, but he didn’t want to spook her.